Jillian Dodd - Hate Me

I sneak back into my bedroom and try to go to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I see the photo Vincent sent B.

Only I see it in motion.

My phone buzzes on my nightstand.

Hottie God: You’re probably asleep, but I just wanted to tell you I miss sleeping with you.

Me: I’m awake. I miss it too.

Hottie God: Then maybe I should do something about it.

Me: I think maybe you should.

I unlock the window and keep my eyes open until I’m safely wrapped in his arms.

Planning a mutiny.

7am

Social Committee meeting.

I am secretly planning a mutiny due to starting at this ungodly hour.

Although, I shouldn’t say ungodly.

Not when there is a beautiful god sitting next to me.

One who keeps playing footsie with me.

And whose smile is definitely worth getting up for.

Whitney and Brad go over what’s already been planned.

Whitney says, “Okay, so, Friday during school, we will transform this place into Paris. The dorms will once again be competing for a dress-down day based on how they decorate their houses. Friday night dinner in the café will be steak and steak frites . Everyone will be encouraged to attend the basketball home opener. The coffee shops will be open late, serving pastries and drinks.”

Brad continues. “Since we’re hosting a wrestling match on Saturday, we didn’t plan any games, but the café will be open all day, serving French grilled ham and cheese sandwiches—or croques monsieur —French pastries, and chocolate soufflés, and will be holding hourly French cooking classes.”

“Then, Saturday night,” Whitney says, “will be the Seine River Dinner Cruise. I think everyone will be so excited when they find out it’s really a murder mystery party. So, Keatyn and Logan, the plan is to let everyone eat their gourmet picnics, and then the cast will get out of their seats and start the play?”

I nod and Logan says, “Yeah, it will be really fun. It’s written so that we’re all on this dinner cruise, eating the gourmet picnics made by me, Wolfgang Pluck. Then you find out someone has been murdered and who all the potential suspects are.”

“Perfect,” Whitney says, “and the tables will have to work together to figure out whodunit?”

“Yes,” I reply. “Each table will turn in their guess of which suspect did it and the winning tables will get some fun prizes.”

“And then Sunday afternoon, students can learn how to play the French lawn bowling game—or boules, as it is known—and go to the matinée movie, which will be showing a French film,” Brad says.

“That all sounds really great,” Brooke says excitedly.

“All right,” Brad says, “I think we have this all figured out. Everyone, make sure you work with your liaison clubs so that things go smoothly. We’ll meet again Friday morning at . . .” He looks at me. “Let’s meet at 7:30. We shouldn’t have too much to go over.”

I give him a big smile. “You’re lucky. I had just decided to mutiny if we had another meeting so early.”

Brad laughs, “Let’s go get some coffee.”

Aiden wraps his arm tightly around my waist, gives me a kiss, and says, “Enjoy your coffee. I have to run down to shop class.”

“What for?”

“To oversee the creation of Hawthorne house’s decoration.”

“Fun. What are you doing?”

“Don’t tell her,” Brad says to Aiden. “They’re the competition.”

“Us girls are decorating all our windows to honor Parisian shopping. Is Hawthorne doing that too?” I ask with a laugh.

“Ha. Ours is gonna blow yours away. It’s amazing what we’ll do to avoid wearing our uniforms for one day.”

Emergency fund.

Ceramics

I’m in ceramics, glazing, when I hear a Psst from the hall.

I turn around and see Maggie. Our teacher is in the back room, so I sneak out to talk to her.

“I just talked to the dean,” she says.

“How’d it go?”

“He didn’t have good news. All the scholarships for the year have been given out.”

“There isn’t any kind of emergency fund?”

“He said he would see what he could do, but not to get my hopes up.”

I give her a big hug. “It will all work out. He’ll find something.”

“I sure hope so.”

As I’m painting the overglaze on my bowl, I’m thinking. Trying to figure out how I can help Maggie. Aiden and I watched as her and Logan’s lives followed one of my scripts. They’re back together where they belong, and I know in my heart they are destined to be that way forever. I’m not going to allow fate to rip them apart.

So, I’m going to intervene.

The question is how?

It’d be easy to just offer to pay for it. Write her a check for next semester. Done.

But what if I’m not here next semester. Or next year?

And I don’t ever want her to feel like she owes me.

I finish glazing, look up the annual tuition on the school’s website, and then ask my teacher if I can go speak to the dean about some French weekend stuff.

She writes me out a pass, so I leave ceramics, run to my dorm to get my checkbook, and then head to the office.

I give the dean’s assistant the same excuse.

She leads me in, tells him why I need his ear for a few minutes, and then walks out leaving the door open.

I follow her, shutting the door, and then sit down.

“We on a top secret mission, Miss Monroe?” the dean asks.

“Actually, kinda. I know Maggie came in and spoke to you earlier and that you didn’t have good news for her.”

“I’m afraid not. I have some alumni that I could call, but usually the first thing they ask is about the student’s grades. Hers are not stellar.”

“But she does tons of activities and she still gets mostly Bs.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he says.

“That’s not good enough.” I lay my checkbook on his desk. “Okay, then, I’d like to start a scholarship fund. One for emergency situations such as this. And I’d like the first recipient to be Maggie. This scholarship comes with a few strings.”

“What kind of strings?”

“It’s anonymous.”

“Many are. That’s not a problem. Will this be a one-time scholarship?”

“You mean will it be just for Maggie or will it go on for other students too?”

“Yes, most scholarship funds go on for years, but we can set this up so that it just helps Maggie.”

I think about Eastbrooke and how at home and safe I’ve felt during my short time here. The amazing people I’ve met. I don’t want anyone to have to leave if they don’t want to. I don’t want them to have to say good-bye to their friends.

“I think I’d like it to go on after Maggie. How would I do that?”

He rolls his chair over to a file cabinet and pulls out a folder. “This is what we give to someone interested in setting up a fund. Typically, they donate a large enough amount so that it supports itself.”

“What do you mean?”

“The school invests the donation and the scholarship money is taken out of the dividends earned.”

I smile. “I like that idea.” Something that will go on long after I’m gone. I flip through the file looking for specific numbers. “I don’t see any suggested amounts. What would it take to fund something like this? I want it to be more than just the tuition. I want to include, like, a stipend too.”

“Are you really serious about this?”

“Yes, very.”

“Okay, well, if you wanted to do it every year for one student, then decide how much of a stipend you want them to receive. If you figure your initial investment to earn a conservative ten percent, that’s how you figure it.”